"O, no!" said Frank. "You've got a bullet in you somewhere; but I guess the surgeon will soon have it out, and you'll be all right again."
"O!" groaned Jack.
Just then there came another rifle-crack, not quite so near as before, and another bullet came with its angry buzz. It cut a twig just over Mr. Sinjin's head, and grazed a cypress tree farther on, at a point considerably lower, and with a downward slant, as the mark revealed.
"Another spent ball," said Frank.
But the old drummer shook his head. "Those are no spent balls. Some murderous rebel is aiming at us."
"How can that be?"
"I don't know. And our best way is not to stop to inquire, but to get out of this as soon as possible."
"Frank!" groaned the burden they were bearing.
"What, Jack?"
"Forgive me, Frank!"